


The Raspberry Preserves

by mybeanieandme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, Helpful husbands, M/M, Sexy times with olive oil, domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 15:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybeanieandme/pseuds/mybeanieandme
Summary: Aziraphale wants to bake scones for the first time ever, luckily Crowley is there to help.





	The Raspberry Preserves

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a giant mess I made trying to make scones. Not proof read. I just want to keep writing ineffable husbands eating different snacks together. Title inspired by the fact that I wanted somewhere to have one of them say "why are you so sweet?" and the other respond "it's the raspberry preserves" but that's a fic of the fic because it didn't make it in.

The thing was, Aziraphale desperately wanted scones. He wanted a specific type of scone from a specific bakery. The only problem was- the bakery no longer existed. It had from 1902 until 1967. Aziraphale had visited on opening day, as it had been a very long time since they’d had any new places to eat near the bookshop. He’d fallen in love instantly. They excelled at everything. But especially scones. They came with clotted cream and raspberry preserves that were heavenly. And Aziraphale would know.

By every miracle in the book (that Aziraphale could muster), the bakery had survived both world wars, but it would appear the youths invading London would do them in. On the final day they were open Aziraphale took the pilgrimage one last time to find the original owner’s granddaughter boxing up what sugar cookies they hadn’t sold that day. She was preparing a box just for him. It contained a large sampling of all his favorite treats and the recipe for his most coveted snack- the scones. 

He hadn’t ever cried in front of a human before but he came very close this time. He took the basket graciously and had, although she could not tell at the time, given her a miracle to a happenstance that would shape a bright future for her. He cried on the way home instead, doing his best to making himself invisible as he ate a blue sprinkle sugar cookie. 

The recipe sat unused for over fifty years- until now. 

He had never really cooked anything because he did not have to. His kitchen was stocked with an assortment of things Aziraphale had found particularly interesting. For instance, he had never brought an avocado home, let alone to slice but if he ever did he had a tool specifically for the job. It wasn’t every kitchen supply ever made but it was a few of them. As much as he and Crowley discussed man kind’s ingenuity of all things evil and torturous, they had an equal level of inventiveness that Aziraphale supposed was the thing that kept him and Crowley wanting to stay. Which is why he owned a kitchen aid mixer in an egg yolk yellow color and it sat in his kitchen like an invitation. 

When Crowley called he had just put the correct measurement of salt into its own prep bowl to be sure everything was ready before he started. “Can’t talk right now- important business,” Aziraphale said dismissively. And he hung up. 

That made the demon worried. Aziraphale was never that short oh the phone unless Gabriel was there. And then he did not call back to explain so more than an hour later Crowley was even more worried. So, fearing his cherubic boyfriend in immortal peril, he went to the bookstore.

He found his angel in quite a mess. Not a discorporating mess. But an honest to goodness floury mess. And shirtless.

“Angel, what have you done?” Crowley asked and Aziraphale jumped near to the ceiling in fright, flour going even more everywhere. 

“Well- if you must know,”Aziraphale righted himself, casually brushing flour off a nipple like it was a smudge on his lapel pocket, “I was baking.”

“Baking?” Crowley said curiously. “Whatever for? France is there-“ he gestured towards what he thought might be south, “No war going on!”

“No scones in France, Crowley,” the angel said. “I want these specific kind.” He held out the tiny recipe card from all those years ago.

Crowley took it like the delicate button of an atomic bomb, no false moves here. “This is-“ the demon’s brain scanned back decades of logos and places he had met Aziraphale over the years, “That bakery used to be down the road?”

Aziraphale beamed at him his most tender smile and Crowley resisted eating him absolutely whole. 

“We met there often I recall- you used to make me order extra preserves so you wouldn’t feel so guilty by ordering extra extra preserves and then took mine,” Crowley started to roll up his sleeves. 

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked, almost alarmed, he cringed as Crowley grabbed a bag of flour.

“I’m going to help you, angel,” Crowley smirked at him. 

By some miracle and yet without any at all, Crowley helped him navigate his way through the recipe relatively mess free (save for the mess Aziraphale had already made being redeposited as he moved around.) 

When the timer went off Aziraphale giggled delightedly in excitement, “Crowley, they smell just the same!”

“I remember,” the demon smiled softly, the word laden with memories so thick and sweet of what happened after the many meetings at that bakery. 

Aziraphale flushed the color of the raspberry preserves. “I think you’ve done it.”

“The true test is in the taste, angel,” Crowley kissed him finally for the first time since he’d been there. He was afraid if he did it once he wouldn’t stop and he was right. He let himself touch Aziraphale’s flour covered naked torso like he’d wanted to when he first walked in the room, fingers trailing through flour matted tangled hair and soft skin with a faint powdering. He grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him closer and kissed him harder. 

Crowley pushed him towards the dinning room table, removed the rest of his clothing, and grabbed the bottle of vegetable oil. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon as he opened him up achingly slow until the angel pleaded, “Would you just fuck me already?” 

And Crowley did. Nice and deep until Aziraphale came hard, leaving yet another thing to wipe off his chest. 

Crowley rinsed off but Aziraphale _showered_. He scrubbed every part of himself he could reach and then went over once more for good measure. 

He emerged from the shower to find a full breakfast tray and a demon reading yesterday’s newspaper sitting on his bed. 

“What a treat,” Aziraphale did that smile that made Crowley’s teeth involuntarily make a biting motion. 

The angel pulled a robe on and sat on his side of the bed. Crowley lifted a metal dome from the plate to reveal their scones and preserves neat and pretty to serve a queen. 

“Good lord,” Aziraphale exclaimed in awe.

“She had nothing to do with it,” Crowley winked at him and prepared a scone for him.

Aziraphale sighed contentedly. This wasn’t the bakery scone- it was better because it was made with love just for him. 

They awoke the next morning with scone crumbs in places they would never find. 

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him softly and say, “I don’t know what I would have done without you yesterday.”

“Miracle,” Crowley shrugged casually as if holding naked Aziraphale in his arms wasn’t better than he ever fucking imagined and he still wasn’t over it. 

“What did bring you here?” Aziraphale asked as if suddenly Crowley had come over for something urgent and then had spent the afternoon and evening and- into the morning- helping-? Aziraphale with his own project.

“The phone call,” Crowley said and when that didn’t seem to clear it up. “It was the way you talked on the phone- And hung up so quickly I was afraid it was Gabriel or someone.”

“You were worried about me?” Aziraphale asked almost rhetorically. And then he kissed Crowley softly and then deeply. Crowley kissed back but let the angel all the control as their mouths met. Aziraphale was kissing him earnestly like he appreciated him to the core of his being. 

“I wish you were closer,” Aziraphale said almost absentmindedly as stroked Crowley’s chest.

“How much closer can I get?” Crowley asked with a waggle of his eyebrows that made the angel chuckle. 

“I meant- living- I love you being here- with me,” said the angel.

“Living with you?” Crowley asked as if it wasn’t what he talked to his plants about the absolute most. “Well- I could think about it.”

Aziraphale moved to look him straight in the eye. “You would?”

“Absolutely.”


End file.
